The Doctor Is In
by Phoenix13
Summary: 2009 MOVIEVERSE  Optimus Prime cautiously leaves Elita One and Chromia in the attentive hands of Ratchet while he goes on a mission. Outtake to 'Male Is As Male Does'. STICKY! SEXUALLY EXPLICIT! ADULTS ONLY! M/F/F


**The Doctor Is In**

**Authors Note: **This is a one-shot for **_cmo-hatchet_**. She writes wonderful stuff for me and I'm enthusiastically returning the favour. LOL I was intending to make this short and funky, but my imagination ran away with it – _again_. ::sigh:: This is an out-take from my regular fic, '_Male Is As Male Does_', where Optimus Prime owns all the femmes in the Autobot army. Yes, owns. As in, they belong to his harem. Enjoy **_cmo-hatchet_**! Warnings for explicit sticky male-on-two-females sexual relations! Stay away if you don't like this kind of stuff! Ta.

* * *

It was all too easy for Femme Commander Elita One to slip into the medbay and glide silently up behind the big Autobot CMO, Ratchet. Oh, the medic was aware of her on a level that he wasn't paying attention to. Just like any other Autobot – or Decepticon, for that matter – his sensors picked up everything in his general proximity, alerted his primary programs which faithfully logged it, attached a priority level to it (no threat, forget it, or, Mother of Primus, get the frag outta here and scream for Optimus!) and went back to being silent.

Elita WAS a threat, Optimus Prime didn't just love her for her good looks and curvy aft, she was one deadly machine when it came to battlefield expertise. She was a weapon of war.

...but Ratchet's systems tagged her as 'female', 'unarmed', and 'no immediate threat'. Obviously, the CMO's systems needed upgrading with regards to the fact that it tagged the opposite sex as not a threat.

Elita stood behind him for a moment with her hands on her hips, admiring his body from behind. Yes, Optimus was bigger, stronger, wore pretty red and blue colors on his armor, and was handsome enough to make mirrors weep for his presence – but Ratchet was no common mech. The bulky yellow-green mech had an allure that dragged femmes into his medbay just so they could perch themselves on one of his benches and blink their optics coyly at him while complaining about a 'slight twinge' somewhere in their body that was just, like, _so_ annoying, and couldn't he, like, check them ALL over? Elita had done that herself on occasion. It hadn't gotten her anywhere but she'd tried. While the Great Optimus Prime followed her around with his glossa hanging out over her beautifully curvaceous, rose-red armor-clad bod, Ratchet maintained his cool and could not be persuaded to act anything like Prime did. Mostly. She'd caught Ratchet giving her the occasional sideways glance. Had seen his optics flare for a moment as he focused on her sweet aft when she looked over her shoulder at him. He was affected by her, it was just that he had a tighter control on the reactions of his body to a gorgeous femme than poor Prime did.

The Femme Commander's optics narrowed as her mouthplates put on a haughty smirk. Then she slipped her arm around his narrow waist and made an open-handed grab for his groin armor. She gripped the big bulge between his thighs with a secure familiarity. "I hope you've warmed this up for me. Optimus is leaving for Australia tonight so you are the chosen male we come to when we want some loving."

Ratchet froze. He swallowed an errant yelp coming from his vocaliser. His head dipped forwards to stare at the female hand stroking the heavy metal that covered his privates. He firmly wrapped himself in his legendary unrattleable demeanour then spoke, "Good afternoon, Elita. Did you have an appointment?"

Elita laughed openly, "Since when have I needed an appointment to handle your goods?" She gave his crotch a smack then sauntered her way around his body, trailing her fingers delicately along his polished battle armor as she did so. She inserted herself between Ratchet and his bench, hampering his work activity. Her cheeky grin shone up at him from just below the thick Hummer bullbar on his chest.

Despite the fact that Elita was unapologetically blocking his work, the CMO waited to address her until he'd put down his tools and arranged them in neat order on the bench beside him. "I thought Ultra Magnus was due to arrive back at base tomorrow."

"Nope," Elita sighed extravagantly, putting the tip of her finger between her mouthplates and sucking on it in such a way that any male looking at her could imagine her doing that to his interface, "he's been delayed until next week." She reached up to tap Ratchet's broad noseplate with her wet forefinger, leaving a glistening patch on his nose. "Which means _you_ are on harem duty as of 1800 hours." Her finger blazed its way down his chest armor. "Why do you always try so hard to avoid me, lover?"

Ratchet stared down at the sensuous femme in dark red armor that counted teasing him remorselessly as one of her favourite hobbies. The femme with the long legs, full chest, and outrageously beautiful face that left mechs blindsided with painfully hard erections in her wake. He didn't really want to avoid her, having her writhing underneath him while he rode her hard enough to make her claw at his chest and hips was always his favourite thing to do, but he refused to be at her beck-and-call like she did to poor Optimus. "Because I know how much you like to tease me and the other mechs on this base." He put his hands on her shoulders and gently eased her away from him. "It isn't 1800 hours yet, Elita, go and tow some other mech along by his hard spike. I'm not touching you until the designated time."

Elita opened her mouth to protest, "But -!"

"Nope." Reaching out with his free hand, Ratchet smacked her on the aft and winked at her. "Go and find some other mech's interface to yank, my sweet. I'm not on femme duty yet. Run along now."

Elita One dropped all of her pouty allure and come-on seduction. She stood staring at him like a sparkling that had just been denied an energon treat. "Sadist."

The CMO glanced at her over his shoulder, smiling, "Yes, you are. Now go away, female. Come back later. I'm not touching Prime's property until he's far enough away that he can't stop me from doing what I want with you." He waved a nonchalant hand at her, "Shoo."

The red femme scowled and crossed her arms, muttering expletives, dropping her 'aren't-I-beautiful-and-don't-you-want-me?' act. She wanted Ratchet's thick spike within her and she wanted it _now_. Optimus never put up a fight when she accosted him, he couldn't chuck his groinplate over his shoulder fast enough when she gave him 'the look'. So why did that damned CMO think he could refuse? She didn't care that Optimus Prime was currently in the next hangar over – less than a hundred feet away – she'd already ridden him twice today already. She wanted a different spike now. She wanted Ratchet. She wanted those supple hips of his driving his dominating spike into her spread-wide-open valve.

Elita's bad mood was lightened when she caught Chromia slipping through the medbay doors with the same sort of predatory, 'I-want-to-be-fucked-NOW', expression that Elita had been wearing a few moments ago. Chromia met Elita's grumpy gaze and lifted an enquiring optic ridge. Elita silently shook her head. No joy here. Chromia cursed. Ironhide and his swaggering masculinity was on the other side of the country, Ultra Magnus and his shy-but-big-and-capable spike was absent, and their beloved harem boss Optimus was about to leave in the next hour. And here was Ratchet refusing to touch a putting-out Elita One, meaning that Chromia had no chance either? What the pit did a femme have to do around here to get a stiff spike in her valve?

:_:Don't get too worked up, Mia. He's only waiting until 1800 hours to give us some medic loving, which is fifty-four-point-three minutes away,_:: Elita commed to her sub-commander. ::_We could go and hit_ _Optimus for a quickie before he rolls into his plane_.::

Chromia made a pouty face, :_:I'm in the mood for something more than that. I'd give up a month's worth of high grade rations to have Ironhide here and ready for femme-mounting duty.:_:

Elita shrugged, ::_The only other mechs here at the moment are-_::

::_Skids and Mudflap. Yeah, I know. I think I'd rather front up to Starscream and ask for some fun than go anywhere near those two._:: Chromia replied with a disgusted expression. ::_If Ratchet won't give us relief for another hour, I think we need to start getting up his aft.::_ So saying, Chromia transformed her right hand into a dart gun with an adhesive attachment and a long metal line, and gestured at Ratchet with it. ::_You want to do the honours, Femme Commander?::_

Elita smirked. :_:Don't mind if I do...:_: Out loud, Elita got the CMO's attention. "Ratchet, would you tell Chromia to put her armor back on? She seems to think it's alright to walk around the medbay naked."

Ratchet turned around to face the two troublesome femmes, "Elita, it doesn't matter what you say or do, I will not service you. Wait until-"

Before the big mech could process what was happening, Chromia aimed her weapon at Ratchet's crotch, fired it, grinned delightedly when she made a direct hit, then gave a mighty yank with her hand on the long thin line glued to it. The results? Ratchet with no groin plate covering his assets. The hinged plate came off with the shriek of metal under duress and flew back into Chromia's smug hand. She joyfully put her metal rope away and stood triumphantly with her prize.

The CMO stared in shock at the female Weapons Specialist when he realised what she'd just done to him. "You... you... YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"

"Nuh uh, I just _did_ do that," Chromia taunted, holding his groin armor aloft in her right hand. The fluoroo yellow of the groinplate clashed with her blue armor. "You're not getting this back until I'm ready to return it. Come on medic, rise and shine, show us that lovely spike of yours."

Elita laughed her head off, not in the least sympathetic. Ratchet growled, hissed, and covered his naked crotch with one spread open hand. _Pit-bred femmes, _he thought,_ no wonder Prime was in charge of the lot of'em, they were a bunch of evil sadists who thought about nothing else but having a mech with a hard spike at their demand!_ Ratchet was even more riled up when Optimus Prime chose that exact moment to pop his head in the medbay doors on his way out to his waiting plane.

"Elita? Chromia? Are you in here?" Prime's intense blue optics widened when he saw what was going on. Ratchet was covering his groin and looking very pissed off, while Chromia was holding what looked like his crotchplate in her hot little hand. "Oh." Prime chuckled. "That little trick, eh? Nevermind Ratchet, they have done that to me too on occasion. Just give them what they want and they'll behave." He paused for effect. "Eventually." Optimus waved lovingly at his two femmes, "Look after my females, Ratchet. Have fun femmes!", then continued on his way.

The CMO let loose with a string of vile profanities. He had WORK to do! He loved servicing femmes and listening to their cries of utter ecstasy, he did, he really did! But he took serious exception to being told by the femmes themselves WHEN and HOW he was going to let that happen! This was his medbay! His kingdom! His word was law! Why should – oh. While Ratchet was angrily berating his loss of power in his own domain, Elita and Chromia had quietly divested themselves of their female coverings and piled them on a spare bench. Both of them were approaching him like a pair of lionesses intent on their prey. The sight of two sexy and naked femmes approaching him made Ratchet's manhood did the only thing it could think of – it started to get seriously vertical.

"I think this mech needs to stop thinking about his work and pay more attention to us, don't you Mia?" Elita strolled around Ratchet's stiff body, trailing her fingers appreciatively along his armor.

"Mmm. I agree." Chromia circled Ratchet from the other direction and caressed his rising spike as she did so. Ratchet groaned in a mixture of frustration and pleasure. Frustration at his inability to control Prime's females, and pleasure at Chromia's hand on his interface.

"I mean, really, what mech in this universe would think that working was a better idea than interfacing?" Elita continued, putting her hands on Ratchet's aft and searching for his exhaust port. The CMO yelped and shuddered when the Femme Commander's fingers probed the rim of it. One femme fondling his erection while the other played with his rear port was the best technique he could think of to make him think 'Stuff work!'.

Elita pushed her fingers into Ratchet's aft port and pressed herself against his back, cooing up into his audios, while Chromia wrapt her hand around his hard interface and leant over to lick at the head of it. Ratchet's optics tried to roll themselves backwards in their casings. Good Primus, these girls knew what they were doing!

"Enough," Ratchet growled, grabbing Chromia around her waist and swinging her up off the floor and onto the medbench in front of them.

Elita giggled, "Sounds just like Optimus, doesn't he Mia?"

"Oh pit, yes!" Chromia squeaked. Ratchet had laid her out on her back and spread her legs wide open with his hands so he could lean down and press his mouthplates to the junction of her inner thighs. Chromia encouraged him by lifting her hips and thrusting her feminine valve into his mouth. The femme was a splayed out pile of glistening blue metal writhing under the erotic attentions of Optimus Prime's CMO.

The Femme Commander leant herself over Ratchet's lower back and pushed one arm under his hips between his legs. She grasped his hot erection and began pumping the underside of it with the palm of her hand like she was trying to load a shotgun. The grunts and groans coming from the occupied male told her how much he was enjoying it. "Now see Ratchet, don't you admit we were right and you were wrong?" Elita said matter-of-factly, "would you be this _hard_," she squeezed his erection in emphasis, "if you didn't want to overload yourself between our legs? Hmm?"

Ratchet couldn't reply. His mouth was glued to Chromia's valve as if the Autobot Commander himself would reach into his chest and rip out his throbbing spark if he dared to stop.

Enjoying the attention of Ratchet's mouth, Chromia grabbed the sides of the bench she was laid out on and struggled to keep herself from overloading too quickly. She wanted to enjoy every minute of this! All the femmes knew how talented Ratchet was at the gentle art of making a femme scream with pleasure. Optimus, Ironhide, and even the shy Ultra Magnus were all focused on getting inside them with their stiff spikes and thrusting heavily until they came (several times), but only Ratchet had a self-perpetuating list in his CPU of how to make a femme come using other techniques. Yes, his spike inside you was the ultimate goal, but letting the cunning medic have free reign to use his immense skills was always something to treasure.

"Oh Primus! Ratchet!" Chromia grabbed the back of Ratchet's head with one hand and pulled him into her. Her thighs clenched rhythmically around his head with her need to just damn well climax. "SLAG! Ugh!" She was riding Ratchet's faceplates like he was a horse that hadn't yet been broken. "Come on, mech! I want _better_ than your best! I. Want. MORE! GAH! I demand it!"

"If she goes off, you are too, Ratchet," Elita purred into his right audio, adding a few sensual licks along the side of his head armor. The upper protrusions of his side headlights above his shoulders made it difficult but she managed. She thumbed the underside of the head of his thick spike, making it jerk and showing him that she meant business. Optimus would willingly vouch for her talent at pulling a mech off and making him climax whether he wished to or not.

On his part, Ratchet was enjoying the experience of having Prime's top-ranked femme; Elita One; willingly working his erection like a professional, while he had his head between the rudely spread open thighs of Ironhide's chosen partner; Chromia. Yes, it was good to enter the territory of another mech and completely show them up in regards to making their female overload hard!

Chromia launched into an overload courtesy of Ratchet's questing mouth with the kind of enthusiasm she showed for everything that she did – she screamed, swore, thrashed and generally made a spectacle of herself. Elita held true to her threat and used her fingers to drag Ratchet's spike into overload as well. With a smirk, the Femme Commander used her strength (she was the strongest femme, after all) to prevent Ratchet from shoving himself into the femme splayed out before him and instead guided his spike into spurting its contents all over Chromia's abdomen. The medic laughed when Elita began tugging him backwards when his spike stopped shooting fluid.

"Come here, come _here_," Elita commanded, using one arm flung upwards over the mech's chest to help her control him into stumbling along in reverse. Elita ducked out from behind Ratchet's big mass just at the right moment to avoid being slammed between him and the next medbench. With Ratchet struggling to stay upright, Elita scrambled up over his hips and laid him out flat on his own medtable. His lower legs dangled over the edge. She perched upon his hips like a harpy. "What on Cybertron is so funny?" she demanded, poking him in the noseplates. "I have to give a report to Optimus on your performance with us and so far I'm not that impressed!"

"You two," Ratchet chortled, "can't get enough, can you? You're all, 'hump me mech, hump me now!'. Optimus regally bangs you morning and night, Ironhide beats his chest and slams his supposedly superior maleness between your legs, Magnus acts like a cave-mech with all his prehistoric grunting and pawing after some pathetic foreplay, and you're both still clamouring for more!" He twirled his finger next to his head to indicate craziness. "Insatiable femmes!"

"Stop that!" Elita smacked his hand down. Glaring.

Ratchet snickered and let his head fall back onto the table with a thump. "Heh. Heh, heh. If I glued a fake male spike onto a lightpole I think I'd walk past it and find one of you humping it."

Elita One's expression changed. Her optics dimmed and a seductive purr came out of her throat. Running her hands up his chest and splaying them on his shoulders, she leaned down over him until her face was lined up with his. He blinked at her. She smiled down at him. "So what makes you think you're any better than a sexed up lightpole, hmm?"

"Well," Ratchet displayed a thoughtful expression, "for a start I can do – THIS!" He grabbed her hips and yanked them down so his new erection could slide into her lubricating valve. His medical over-rides had deleted the usual lag time between arousals. Sneaky CMO's could do that. It was one of the many traits that made them such desirable partners. "No slagging inanimate pole can give you a shagging like this! You need a real live mech for that!"

Elita hissed and groaned on top of him. Damn, he was good. He wasn't as long in the spike as Optimus or Magnus so he wasn't hitting the end of her valve but he had a thickness at the base of his interface that rubbed the nodes of her slit exactly where it counted.

Ratchet turned the tables on the busy Femme Commander. Keeping his maleness inside of her so they were attached at the groin, he smoothly yanked her upper body down onto his own, then rolled over on top of her so he was triumphantly on top of Prime's most treasured femme. He'd just narrowly missed rolling both of them off the table onto the floor. Thank Primus for extra wide medberths...

Elita was enjoying herself. With each thrust he sent surges of pleasure through her pelvic region just the way she liked it. She flexed her back appreciatively and grabbed onto his armored biceps for support. Ratchet certainly had a different technique from what Optimus used. Their commander had long thrusts – his hips delved deep, slow, and made you feel every luscious bit of him. Ratchet had a much shorter stroke. His hips were rebounding his male stiffness back inside almost before he'd pulled out much at all, it was as if he was trying to shove her along underneath him. She would never downgrade her Prime to the status of 'good', instead of 'brilliant', but it was nice to have a change of pace.

"What, can't you speak femme?" Ratchet chuckled, hitching his thrusts so that he ground the base of his erect spike into the sensitive node at the top of her splayed open feminine port. "I guess you can't tell me what it is that Prime does when he's on top of you. Does he kiss you? Stroke you?" Ratchet ground himself into the femme underneath him, making her clutch hopelessly at his chestplates. "Does he do any dirty talk? Does he, Primus forbid, _swear_? Slip in the odd 'slag' and 'frag' while he pumps you?"

Elita groaned, shaking her head back and forth while she writhed helplessly. Unable to speak.

The CMO arched over the top of her on his braced arms. The mass of his body covering hers overshadowed her hot body. "Come on Elita, tell me what he's like." He leant down, nuzzled her throat under her chin, then opened his thick jaw and bit her seductively. Elita's body jerked. Another groan came from her mouthplates.

"Shut up mech and give our Femme Commander the proper respectful banging she deserves," Chromia snarled in fake fury. Standing next to the head of the table, she leaned down under Ratchet, grabbed his head, yanked it sideways to face her, and claimed his grinning mouthplates with her own to make him stop talking. The medic had no trouble ravishing her mouth while he kept riding Elita One. He was satisfied for the moment with having his spike deep inside one femme while he kissed the daylights out of the other.

The blue femme drew back and ran her hands playfully over Ratchet's bulky chest. While it was nice to be a voyeur and watch a femme and mech have a right royal fucking in front of her face, she wanted some action of her own, and Chromia had never been a femme with much patience.

"My turn!"

Ratchet yelped when he was forcefully shoved backwards by Mia's hands on his chest so he was yanked out of Elita's hot valve just as she began to shudder through her climax. He stumbled back with his stiff and glistening spike waving in front of his groin. "Hey! _Femme_!"

"Chromia! Give him back!" Elita growled unhappily when her overload had passed and she could speak normally. Friendship be damned. She'd been enjoying that! And she wasn't finished yet! She kept her thighs spread wide-open and gave Ratchet an optic-full of her exposed crotch, hoping he'd shake Chromia off and return to his former position.

"No way! You've been keeping tonight's ride all to yourself! Learn to share, you hussy!" Chromia shot back.

Ratchet wasn't in any condition to complain. Chromia had pushed up against the wall and was vigorously jerking him off with one hand on his straining erection. When she spun him around and tripped him up so he crashed backwards onto his aft, then helped herself to climbing into his lap and impaling herself on his spike, Ratchet let his upper body thunk down onto the floor so he was lying on his back and resigned himself to being told what to do by a pair of very horny and very powerful femmes. He would give them a bit of slack for the time being. But soon... they would find themselves disciplined and strapped down on their backs upon his medbenches with their thighs opened up and their ports readied for his desires. Then the fun would begin...

In the end – and after asking the two proud femmes if they minded being tied up and strapped down - the CMO wrestled Chromia onto her front upon a medbench. He strapped her down so that her aft was arched up into the air and her thighs were spread wide. Ratchet enjoyed himself standing behind her while he got his fingers deep inside her sweltering valve and aroused her internally until she screamed to be taken. Elita stood next to them, watching, and reaching out with her hand to fondle Ratchet's erect interface. It was easy enough for the medic to lower the table and frag Chromia hard in the way a mech should be with a femme with his hips ramming repeatedly into her raised aft, until she screeched a few swear words and overloaded around him.

With Elita, he positioned her on her back with her legs splayed wide-open, then sat himself down on a medstool between her legs with her crotch level with his chest. Then he held her valve spread open with the fingers of one hand while he used his other hand to examine her internally, just as he would if a femme was having problems down there, except that he went way over the top and shamelessly incorporated getting her sexually wound up at the same time. Chromia sat on the next bench and swung her legs back and forth while laughing at her Commander threatening to kick him in the head unless he thrust his interface inside of her, _stat_. Which, of course, is what Ratchet did. He leaned over her with his spike ejaculating hard into her poor over-worked valve as she swore her way through an intense climax. There was only so far you could go with Elita before her hot temper flared and resulted in groin injuries to the nearest male in her proximity.

With both femmes happily fragged into recharge, Ratchet straightened up and wiped down his limp crotch and sticky inner thighs with some cloths while grinning openly. He'd recorded most of the things he'd just done to the two femmes and would send on the data packet to Optimus over a private line. Just to show the bigger mech that when it came to servicing females, Ratchet knew exactly how to get the job done properly.

_**A few days later...**_

The Supreme Autobot Commander; Optimus Prime; rolled off the plane he'd just arrived home on, and headed straight to the medbay hangar on the opposite end of the tarmac. His dirty truck form sent up small clouds of outback dust when he cruised to a halt and transformed into his tall mechly bipedal form. Rolling his shoulders and grunting, he pushed open the outer medbay door with one big hand.

Feminine squeals and laughter hit his audios.

Growling happily at the sound of his beloved femmes, Prime over-rode the lock on the inner medbay doors by using his command code (wasn't it nice to get into anywhere and everywhere he wanted to with his super code?) and stalked into the medbay – to be greeted with the sight of Ratchet's aft moving smoothly and steadily between the spread thighs of Elita One. Seeing his femme with her legs in the air (she was delightedly holding her legs up with her hands behind her knees) as his CMO interfaced her vigorously, made his sleeping interface spring back into business and begin to try and shove off his groinplate from the inside. That was his femme. He always claimed what was his.

Ratchet swore and froze when he was lifted up off Elita by a hand on the back of his neck armor. He hung in the air with his feet off the ground and his stiff interface sticking out into the cold air. His optics swivelled sideways to greet the glinting gaze of Optimus Prime. Slag. The damn mech had to come back early, didn't he?

Prime's gaze flickered down to stare between Elita's legs at her puffy and wet valve, then he met Ratchet's sheepish gaze with narrowed optics. The big commander rumbled dangerously, "May I have my femmes back now? Or do you think they need yet more interfacing before you surrender them?"

Despite his position midway up in the air, Ratchet defiantly crossed his arms over his chest and sent Prime a famous Ratchet-type glare of disapproval. "You left'em, I fragged them. Don't get cranky about that with me, lugnut. They've had the best of care," Ratchet winked, "inside and out."

Elita propped herself up on her elbows and waggled her optic ridges at the mech who owned her body and spark. "Optimus! You're home!"

Giving Ratchet's nakedness a roll of his optics, Prime opened his hand and dumped Ratchet back onto his feet. "Hello Elita, I missed you terribly. And where is Chromia?"

Refusing to cover up his exposed and very aroused crotch, Ratchet wordlessly pointed to the right. Optimus followed the point and stared at Chromia who was laid out on her back and gently purring on a spare medbench with her beloved rifle clutched to her chest like a favourite teddy bear. He wasn't worried that she was recharging or that she wasn't jumping up and greeting him with a kiss to his cheekplate while her sneaky fingers were getting under his crotchplate, oh no, he was instead amazed to see the blue femme with her inner thighs and chestplates covered in what looked suspiciously like multiple deposits of transfluid. She was erotically filthy. And exhausted.

Prime slowly turned his head to give Ratchet a scathing look. "When I said look after my femmes, I didn't mean for you to interface with them until they passed out! You were meant to gently and moderately give them whatever relief they needed!" He pointed at Chromia's stained body, "And didn't you at least _clean_ them?"

Elita reached up and smacked her mate on his forearm armor, "C'mon Optimus, don't be such an aft. Ratch has only been giving us what we've been asking for. He's a very good fuck, you know." She kneeled on the medbench so she could get enough height to tap Prime's noseplates with her finger. "Jealous, much?"

"Humph." Still giving Ratchet the evil optic, Optimus slid his arm around Elita's waist and carried her close to his chest. He moved over to Chromia and effortlessly lifted her slim form over his shoulder so she was face down. Her hands never let go of her rifle. The blue femme grumbled without opening her optics about 'needing more recharge' before she could 'go again', then let herself flop down over Prime's broad back and snooze.

Feeling that he did need to give Ratchet some thanks for seeing to the needs of his precious femmes (even if the medic had over-done it), Optimus bowed his head reverently to the other mech as he walked past, saying, "Thank you," and then smirking at the other mech's interface still expectantly straining upright against his abdominal armor and wondering where its females had gone to. Prime felt he'd made his point by removing his femmes from reach.

Left alone in the medbay, Ratchet stared down at his excited-but-unsatisfied male equipment and shrugged. "It's just you and me now, Little Ratchet." He was back to using his own hand again until the next time that Optimus and the other mechs were away on missions again. A slow grin spread over his face as he realised that as a certified member of Optimus Prime's command structure, he could very much have a say in what the rosters for the 'away' missions were. Hmmm. He'd have to work on that. Intricately. The Sahara or Siberia were both nice places to visit...


End file.
